Dreamwalker
by Sargent Snarky
Summary: The Dark is back. Will must face them. Alas, but no one else remembers, and he get's wounded pretty badly by the Dark. Thrown into this unfortunate mix is a strange pendant and obscure legened about a not so obscure world and its mistress. Oh dear...


**The Dreamwalker**

_By Sargent Snarky_

_A fanfiction for The Dark Is Rising Sequence, which is by Susan Cooper. I merely have copies of the book, not to mention twisted and somewhat sick ideas permeating my mind concerning the things the Dark might do to Will. Poor Will._

_Yes, this is another fiction that goes to prove I am rather sadistic towards my favorite characters…(though not really in the first chapter)_

_Genre: Horror / Angst_

_Rating: PG-13, for now. Warning! It might increase, depending on certain things. No, not sexual, methinks, but bloody… and not really pleasant. Plus, there might be some language._

_Summary:_ As per usual, in these stories, the Dark has found a way back into this world. And, with the appearance of both a strange girl calling herself the Dreamwalker and a powerful pedant she claims as her own, Will is once again called forth to fulfil his duty as Watcher. At least he isn't completely alone... yet.

_Well.. That certainly was NOT a well-written summary. Blah. They're hard… Oh well… This is a random idea I had, so don't mind too much if I don't ever finish it. I've a lot of writing projects going on right now, and not all of them at this site. Not to mention a hilariously busy schedule for summer. Blech. I do _not_ like working for my dad's business. I'm sorry, but boxing flashers, stuffing envelopes, forging my sister's signature and putting together orders is really rather boring. And soldering flashers and throttles, or at least the circuit board parts of them, gets really, really boring after about the twentieth time. And let us not mention the flax fumes… heheheh! I'd rather be swimming… or something where I'm not sitting on my ass working. I'd much rather goof off and actually get exercise. I never get much physical exercise during the school year, so why must I be chained to fricken boring snot during the summer? -is whining and knows it, but doesn't care and is just pissed off anyway-_

_Furthermore, there's about four days 'til school starts! -sniffle- AAAND our hard drive has been dead!_

_Oh.. And by the way, this isn't written particularly well, since I'm not bothering to edit or anything. So… don't bug me about technicalities. Only tell me about the big flarfs on my part. Ok? Thanks. Enjoy the random machinations of my mental faculties…_

* * *

**Chapter I: In Medias Res**

+ In which Will and company get thrust straight into the thick of things, beginning with a pendant. +

"Hey mother, where're Will and his friends?" asked Mary as she came into the kitchen where Alice Stanton was doing dishes.

"They went to your father's shop. He, your father I mean, said he could use some help with cleaning, checking inventory and all the things he usually does before Christmas."

"Ah. So, _why_ did Will and his friends go?"

Mrs. Stanton sighed. "Because they're polite helpful young things who aren't so lazy as _certain_ teenagers around here."

Mary grinned sheepishly, fiddling absently with the ends of her long hair. "When will they be back? I was thinking of starting on the paper chains, and help is always wanted. Besides, as youngest, Will ought to be cutting the paper strips."

"They'll be back in time for tea. And you can wait to start the paper chains until after Will's birthday tomorrow. They'll get done. They always do. Anyway, if you've really nothing to do, you can always help with these dishes… Barbara normally does, but she and Max went into town to pick up groceries, among other things."

"Do I have to?" whined Mary. "Couldn't Paul or Robin do it?"

"Do you see them lurking in the kitchen? Come on! You can dry the pots and put them in the cupboard."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Bran reached under a counter and pulled out an odd wooden box, unadorned, save for a simple clasp. "Well, this is certainly an odd thing," he remarked, his thick Welsh accent making the English almost lyrical, in a strange way. The boy picked it up, shaking it gently; something inside jostled. "Hey, Mr. Stanton, what's this?" He held up the box.

Roger Stanton looked up from the silver necklace he was polishing and frowned. "Hmm… I'm not sure. I don't recall ever having a box like that. Bring it over here, would you?"

Will, who was checking the rings in stock against the catalogue of his father's wares, glanced up, and his green-blue eyes widened considerably. However, his shock vanished quickly, face quickly becoming expressionless. "Where'd you find that, Bran?"

"Under the diamond counter," came the reply.

"Oh!" said Jane, pausing in her dusting. "I saw that earlier, when I was cleaning the case, but I completely forgot about it. Do you know what it's for, Mr. Stanton?"

"Well, let's open it and see." Roger fiddled with the clasp for a few moments before he managed to undo it – it was rather stiff – and opened the box.

The inside was lined with soft fabric, but was empty save for three items: A scroll, a long braided chord and a round pendant with an ornate dragon carved upon one side, holding a circle quartered by a cross in one claw and a sinuous flame that was somehow dark in the other. On the other side, an identical serpentine dragon held a stylized leaf and a scale. (A/N as in a measuring scale. Y'know, like the one Lady Justice holds?) Other things were visible behind and around the dragons. On the side with the flame, a hawk flew, a sword burst into flame, a grail gleamed, a rook lurked, a mink glared, a fox snarled. On the side with the leaf, Herne gazed owlishly, surrounded by his Hunt, vines twined, the Greenwitch floated, a tall king stood, a table was round, a trio of cloaked figures gazed. The detail was breathtaking in its delicacy.

Mr. Stanton brought out the pendant, holding it carefully and turning it over, examining the craftsmanship. "Exquisite!"

"Wow," breathed Jane. "That is beautiful!"

"Haven't you said that about half the jewelry here?" questioned Simon, sardonically, as he came out of the back room, followed by Barney.

"We've finished filing the receipts, sir," said Barney. "Hey! What's that?" he added, catching sight of the box and its contents.

Will stared at the pendant with a mixture of surprise wonder and awe. He could feel in it power from the Light and the Dark, of Wild Magic and High Magic, of the unknown and the understood. And yet, the pendant was of none of these. It was a thing bound to them, yet of no connection. Still, another power remained within it, like the pendant, separate, yet bound to the other four powers, but Will could not put a name to it, though it seemed achingly familiar. If he could just recall the right part from the book of Graymere, perhaps he could name it?

"It's a piece of amazing artistry," murmured Mr. Stanton, threading the chord through the loop provided at the top of the pendant. "But, I honestly have no memory of this… Maybe this scroll will tell us, eh?"

By now, all five children were gathered around Mr. Stanton, the box and the pendant. Carefully, Mr. Stanton replaced the pendant and its chord in the box, then lifted the scroll. It must have been made of sturdy yet old parchment, for it cracked as it was unrolled. There was indeed writing upon the document, but it was in a strange, ancient script long forgotten by modern scholars. Five of the six stared at the writing with befuddlement, but Will knew it; the writing was similar to the Old Speech, though it was slightly different in places. Still, Will could read it without much difficulty, and what he read told of a strange being referred to only as The Dreamwalker who had been sealed out of the world of dreams, which was her domain, and that her powers had, for the most part, been sealed into this pendant, accessible only by her, or by a combination of the four powers… Light, Dark, Wild Magic and the High Magic.

"What kind of writing _is_ that?" asked Simon.

"Haven't ever seen anything like that," murmured Bran. "_Duw_."

"It certainly is strange," said Mr. Stanton, quirking an eyebrow at the parchment as he smoothed it out upon the counter.

"The script's graceful and pretty in a strange, old sort of way," commented Jane.

"It's… familiar, somehow," said Barney, frowning.

"You're right," agreed Jane, frowning, too. "Though I can't imagine why."

"Hey Will, you're the anthropology nut," said Simon. "What's the language?"

Will didn't answer. He was enthralled with reading it. Bran decided there was no other plausible reason for his friend's intense study, or the way Will's eyes scanned the fluid lines. Jane, Simon and Barney also found their friend's actions suspicious. Will's father, on the other hand, rose and moved into the back room, saying that he was going to get a magnifying glass, or a microscope, and a camera.

"Will?" repeated Simon once Will's father had gone. "Hello?"

"Hmm?" Will snapped back to the present. "Oh, sorry… Must've just zoned out…"

"You did not," said Barney. "You were reading that. What language is it?"

"And how do you know it?" added Bran.

"What does it say?" asked Jane "It's so familiar, but I'd swear I'd never seen anything like that before…"

Will hesitated, a note of panic singing through his mind as he struggled to find a way to explain. Then, he shrugged and said, "I… it's called the Old Speech. Your Great-Uncle showed me some of his research on it since I'm so fascinated with anthropology. He even taught me a bit of it. I can't decipher the whole script here, but I recognize a bit. Maybe you saw some of his papers or transcribing and that's how you recognize it?"

The others looked dubious.

"You certainly looked as if you understood the whole thing, though," said Barney, a note of disappointment in his voice.

"If it's from their Great-Uncle's papers, then why does it seem so familiar to me?" asked Bran. "I feel as if I could almost read it…"

Will opened his mouth to answer, but froze. A queer expression stole over his face, and, amid cries of 'what's the matter' and 'what are you doing,' he snatched the scroll and the pendant, stuffed them in his pocket, then turned to the box and shut it, clasping it and tucking it out of sight. A moment later, the bell on the door jangled and three strange figures walked in. The first was a tall man dressed in black with reddish hair and cruel cold eyes. The second was a woman wearing all white with equally cruel eyes. The third was a younger woman, the same age as Max, one of Will's older brothers, and happened to be Maggie, who had vanished several years ago.

"Get out," commanded Will in a cold tone so very different from a voice any of his friends had ever heard him use. They glanced at him and saw a strange Will they did not know. A fierce Will. "You who were banished have no right to return. Get. Out."

The tall man laughed. "My dear Watcher, are you truly so naïve as to believe we would be content with our defeat? Are you so stupid as to think we didn't create safeguards and other ways into this world before we were driven out?"

"I said Get Out."

"You have no power over us, Old One," said the older woman. "And you have not the full power of the Light."

Will was about to say something further when Mr. Stanton came out of the back room. "Ah! Mitothin! What a pleasure to see you and your family! May I help you?"

"Greetings, Roger," replied Mr. Mitothin, cordially. "Yes, as a matter of fact. You know the shipment I delivered last week? Well, I seem to have misplaced a small wooden box containing a pendant and a scroll, and I wondered if, perhaps, the box might have gotten mixed in?"

"Speak of the devil! We were just examining that lovely pendant. My, if' I'd have known that box was yours, I'd have rung you up to let you know you'd left it." Mr. Stanton turned to the children. "Now.. where'd you put it?"

"He can't have it. It isn't really his," said Will.

"Will!" said Mr. Stanton, reprovingly.

"It's not. The pendant belongs to no one, and you can't use it yourselves." Will's last words were directed to Mr. Mitothin.

Will's father stared at his youngest in disbelief, while Will's friends stared between him and the three others. A silent contest of wills seemed to be taking place between the two. Mr. Mitothin scowled.

"You really ought to learn to respect your elders, boy," he hissed.

"You do not deserve my respect, Rider."

"You heard your father. Give me the box _and_ all its contents."

"Why? As I said, you can't use the pendant's powers."

"Who said _we_ needed to use its powers?"

"Leave. Now. You were banished, and banished you remain."

"You're such a fool, Watcher," snapped the girl, Maggie. "to think that we would remain banished. Always there are cruel men, wicked men, men with darkness in their hearts! And they and their dreams are our gate…"

"Go!" Will suddenly stepped forward, and it seemed to Bran that he was wrapped in Light while the other three blazed with darkness. The two forces contested dominance.

The three reeled back as if struck, though Will's expression showed great strain. Suddenly, however, Maggie stepped forward, raising her hand… and in that hand was a metal object. A gun. Jane let out a stifled shriek, while Mr. Stanton made an inarticulate attempt to say something. Barney shrank back, Simon looked somewhat frightened, and Bran stared. Will was impassive.

Mitothin and the woman stood behind her, cruel smiles playing across their lips. "Give us the damn pendant and the damn scroll, Old One," hissed Maggie. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer one of your friends, or perhaps your father to die."

"You wouldn't. You can't. The Dark is not permitted to actually kill," replied Will.

"Oh, but we aren't killing. The bullet is. Besides, the laws have changed. The High Magic no longer governs. The Wild Magic sleeps. And you are all that is left of the Light. Now, hand them over."

Will shook his head. Maggie smirked. "Very well."

She pointed the gun at Will's friends and fired. As the loud rapport sounded, and Jane shrieked, Will stepped in front of the bullet, for there was no time to call forth a barrier to stop it at such a close range. But the bullet missed completely, thudding into the ceiling and letting loose a shower of plaster dust and fragments. The reason for such inaccuracy at point blank range was obvious at once, for, as the dust cleared, a new figure could be seen, grappling with Maggie, while the two Riders stared for a moment before employing their powers to fling this new comer away.

Surprisingly, the figure landed in a crouch and stood up, quite unharmed and unwinded, despite the ferocity of the Dark's 'thwack.' And, it turned out to be a rather strange young woman, not far into her twenties, perhaps not even out of her teens – it was hard to tell – and yet there was something indefinably ageless about her, even more so than with the Old Ones, though Will had no idea why. She was of no determinable race, for though her hair was red and her eyes were bright green, her eyes were slanted and almond-shaped and her skin was somewhat olive in complexion and tanned in such a way that she seemed middle eastern or from northern India. Furthermore, her facial structure was delicate and dainty, while at the same time strong.

Strange, too, was her dress, for it consisted of a pair of brown flatsoled boots, leaf green tights, a bohemian or gypsy sort of skirt that was rather twirly and colorful, a tight fitting black longsleeved shirt tucked into leather gloves and a looser green tank top over that. Her hair was bound in a braid down her back, though a few stray hairs fell into her eyes. And those eyes… they were flashing dangerously.

Mr. Stanton tried to articulate something, but he was, quite frankly, at a complete loss for words. Jane looked like she was about to faint, and she held her hands over her mouth, as if to stifle another scream. Barney's eyes were wide like a fish's as he gaped at the scene, gaze flickering uncertainly between Will, the Dark ones and the strange girl. Bran, like Barney, kept shifting his eyes between them, though he didn't gawk. Instead, he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Simon alone had the sense to edge, using this distraction, near the counter, where there was a phone. He had his hand on the receiver and was just about to lift it to call 911 when the silence was abruptly shattered.

Mr. Stanton had finally managed to get his tongue, mouth, vocal chords and diaphragm in line, and he cried, in a mixed tone of disbelief, horror, and shock, "I'd like to know what the bloody hell is going on!"

"_Jesu Grist,_" murmured Bran. "Wouldn't we all…"

To Be Continued…

* * *

_Well? How was that for a first chapter? I'll give you a brief preview of the next one… or at least the title:_

Chapter II: What the hell _is_ going on?

in which the Dreamwalker almost gets her pendant back, the police muddle around, and memories get rather frazzled +

Bet you can't guess who this new girl is… -.- 

_Actually, because I've known some quite acute reviewers as well as some extraordinarily obtuse ones, I'm going to assume that most of you are 'right', and therefore probably have at least an inkling. (By the way, if you don't get what I mean by 'right', obviously you've never have geometry, or else you didn't care enough to pay attention to angles.)_


End file.
